


Crème Glacée

by thasmins



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Ice Cream, Orgasm Denial, Smut, Sorbet, Vibrators, ice pops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 02:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16823545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thasmins/pseuds/thasmins
Summary: All this because Yaz fucking loses a bet.





	1. un

**Author's Note:**

> ugh we haven't gotten a lot of top!thirteen fics so,,, this happened
> 
> it's a two-shot for a reason

“So, where to now?”

Yaz flips her head. Ryan is making his way to the console, munching on Oreo cookies he stashed in his palm. He looks at her when she’s giving him something of a grimace, retaliating with an annoyed shrug.

“Sorry,” she replies, shifting her bum off console’s surface, “I hit my hip on something.”

It’s good enough of a lie to have Ryan drop the one-sided conversation. Yaz almost shrieks.

This is a fucking bad idea, alright.

Then again, she lost a terrible bet to the Doctor, and she has to pay the consequence of daring her girlfriend.

Speaking of which—

“Hello gang!” Oh, the Devil has arrived. “Wait, no, where’s Graham?”

“Some stomach bug got to him,” Ryan replies, looking at the Doctor’s worried glance, “but no worries, he’s knocked out right now and should be fine in a couple of hours.”

The alien sighs. “Shame, I remember him hearing how much he likes to lick ice cream. Or was it eating ice cream? My tongue’s watery, excuse me. I was planning to take him to a planet solely based on making ice cream. I could bite into one of their delicious flavours right now.”

Oh. My. God.

Yaz’s hands ball into fists.  _ This bloody stupid word kink. _

The Doctor had discovered her specific fixation on certain words in one of their intimate escapades stuffed in a janitor’s closet. Ever since then, the alien would purposefully slide in one too many words when going off on her usual rambles.

Yaz is more concerned with how clever the Doctor actually is; that mouth of hers certainly has a charm for language.

Mouth.

_ For fuck’s sake. _

“Are we going there still?” Ryan asks, and despite the innocence of the question, Yaz’s mind is ill of lewd images going off from just one string of sentences. 

The Doctors hums. Her eyes lock with Yaz’s own. They are making sure that the poor brunette is teased with knowledge that she is currently concocting a rude plan.

She winks at her.

_ Hmmmzzz… _

Yaz winces, inhaling a sharp breath as she grasps on the console’s surface. Of course, the bloody vibrator lodged inside her fucking cunt is telepathic. No wonder the Doctor never brought a remote as they went out to do this stupid thing.

“Woah, you okay, mate?” 

Ryan pats his hand on Yaz’s back, and she swipes away swiftly, flinching.

“Yeah, my hips just really hurt.” She really wants to scream at this point. It doesn’t help that she catches a quick sight of the Doctor’s smug look.

The vibrator’s thrumming quickens with another wink. Yaz fights the temptation to close her knees together. It’s clear that the Doctor is revelling in her quiet suffering, but Ryan’s concerned look for her just turns the situation worse.

She mutters a quick prayer to Allah as she straightens up, running her hands on her denim jeans. 

“I’ll be fine, though,” she reassures, shaking her head. “We should head out to this planet. I  _ love  _ to eat ice cream so much. I adore it.”

More like she wants to punch herself for blabbering too much.

“Ah! So we’re off to Crème Glacée, brilliant!” the Doctor cheers. Her wide grin can be interpreted in two ways: for pure excitement of eating ice cream, or in Yaz’s case, the cruel lust of what she could do other than eating the frozen dessert on a cone.

Yaz gulps. With the Doctor pulling the lever for the TARDIS to travel and the vibrating sensations between her thighs, she braces herself for what’s to come.


	2. deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :eyesintense:

Crème Glacée is a colourful gay dreamland.

Instead of an earthly blue sky, it is lavender with pastel pink wispy clouds. The equivalent of green grass is a soft tye-dye of colours and looks like candy floss. There aren’t any trees around, but there are tall white bamboo-like structures huddled in certain parts of land. There’s an intersection of roads not far which are yellow.

Then, there’s that sweet vanilla scent that’s dispersed everywhere in the atmosphere it’s almost sickening.

Yaz almost forgets what they’re truly here for. Oh, and the agonising thrumming of the vibrator that she’s pretty sure the Doctor has augmented its settings.

“Right then!” The alien closes the TARDIS door after stepping out. She’s got three snap bracelets and hands the other two to Yaz and Ryan. “Trackers. I’m letting you roam around in free will but I will know where you are. I’ll send a telepathic link whether or not you should be in place.”

Ryan nods in glee. He slaps his baby blue tracker on and happily trots off like a giddy horse.

“Aren’t you going explore?”

Yaz wishes she could slap the smirk off the Doctor’s face. She’s never seen the Time Lord in such a lecherous state. This—what they’re bloody doing—is straight off some cheap porno written and shot for the perverted male gaze.

As if porn exists to accurately represent the sex life (or lack thereof, honestly) of a Muslim Pakistani lesbian.

“In my state? With a bloody sex toy buzzing my cunt into bits?”

Yes. Rule number one: hide your obvious horny feelings with outbursts of exasperation. Life Hacks by Yasmin Khan—subscribe for more content!

The Doctor leans on the blue box, raising an eyebrow as a taunt (and obviously, they succeed). “And you know your safe words, Yaz.”

Of course. _When you want me tame a bit or slow down, say Birds. When you want to stop, you say Pears. I hate them. Massive turn-off. Got it?_

“Crystal clear,” she replies. Her words come out as laboured breaths. Knees threaten to fail her. “Birds!”

She feels the intensity of the vibrator calm at her mercy. It is, though, when her legs shake violently that she falls—

—and the Doctor’s come in a quick swoop. _Come. Flippin’ heck._ Yaz meets the comfort of the alien’s brawny arms instead of the candy floss ground.

“You haven’t come yet, haven’t you?” Fuck’s sake. That word again. “That was part of our agreement. _No coming until I tell you to._ Correct?”

Yaz nods helplessly. Just the thought of it has her pressing her own thighs together.

The Doctor glares. It’s devilish and rude. “Don’t. Come.” She drops the brunette, who finds footing in a panicked attempt to not make impact in case of an accidental climax. “Alright! Go have a look, Yaz! It’s ice cream heaven!”

A planet dedicated for ice cream. A horny lesbian versus a telepathic vibrator. A wild Time Lord in control. What could go wrong?

* * *

  


Sucking on ice pops help.

Or maybe not, now that she thinks about her word choice there.

For fuck’s sake.

* * *

  


She’s never tried orgasm denial until now. It seemed fun when she read about it in short stories via Literotica.

It’s how she made the bet with the Doctor in the first place. To elaborate: they bet on the how long it takes Graham to read an entire book from the Twilight series. Yaz lost at just four minutes short.

Winner tortures loser with a remote-controlled vibrator (though yes, a telepathic one is better and more fun for the Doctor) while they go on a date. Or maybe a _relaxing_ adventure in an alien planet, in their case.

Yaz is stubborn. Pears would have to wait.

* * *

  


She finds the Doctor immersed in an ice cream cone wrapped in her hand not long after.

She stops mid-bite, leaving strawberry cream stains on her lips. Yaz almost unravels on the spot.

“Took you long enough!” She flashes a cheery smile, and it’s almost adorable. “Come here. You should try this! My fave!”

Before Yaz could protest, if she could even, the Doctor shoves the cone towards her face. Parted lips meet the soft, creamy texture, and right where her bite was last taken.

Yaz’s eyes flutter shut as her senses are reaching their overload. The icy touch kisses her curious tongue. The saccharine taste of strawberries hits her like a smack, and she groans into the cone. She bucks her hips, pressing her thighs together. Still, she swallows her release like she does with the frozen dessert.

“Good girl,” the Doctor says, a perfect manipulation of words to feed Yaz’s own praise kink. “Go on, eat more. You seem famished.”

Yaz only obeys. She practically has an arm around the Time Lord as she devours the entire sweetness of the cone. With the thoughts of a telepathic vibrator torturing her core, it never really sinks in her how hungry she really was. She remembers eating a burnt pancake for breakfast, maybe a cup of yogurt with berries an hour after.

She eats, and eats, and _eats_ —and suddenly, her tongue hits warmth. Two slender fingers inserted in her parted lips.

Her lewd brown eyes lock with narrowing hazel ones. A pale hand digs into her wavy perm.

“Go ahead, Yaz. _Come._ ”

The Doctor’s calm voice sends her.

Yaz explodes. Her entire body goes weak as she sees surreal colours on top of the sickening pastel vomit of Crème Glacée’s environment. The sweet taste of strawberries and the heightened vibrations intensify the drawn out climax, rendering her in such dumbfounded awe she almost loses grip on her sanity.

She was sewn in tight by Mother Nature, but the Doctor strategically unravels her with the fingertips of her mind and the marvels of telepathic sex toys.

“Fuck,” she croaks. It’s the first word she manages out in a long while. Her voice feels alien.

The Doctor tilts her chin up with her bitten index finger and kisses her lips with fervor. Their tongues meet and taste with the same strawberry sweetness.

When they pull apart, Yaz stifles a laugh that isn’t innocent at all.

“Do you remember the other part of that bet?” she asks the Time Lord with a shy voice.

_Oh, but even if one of us win, the loser can get back if we kiss after one of us comes._

_What kind of a bloody bet is that?_

_Yaz, it’s only fair! Besides, we both benefit from the bet now._

_Okay, fine._

“Your words, Doc. Not mine.”

* * *

  


“Open wide, Doctor!”

Yaz’s narrowed eyes glare lewdly at the Time Lord. Pleading hazel eyes, frowning brows, a parted mouth that widens at her demand. The alien is positioned in all fours, limbs quivering by her dominant touch. The chain leash around the pale neck only adds to her lecherous excitement.

Pulling the leash forward, she enters a lengthy mango ice pop inside the Doctor’s mouth. The moan that softly comes out is enough to make Yaz’s thigh damp in arousal again.

“Suck, don’t bite,” she commands.

She pushes more length in and out, and the Doctor fervidly obeys. Her head bobs back and forth, submissive to the icy fruit taste hitting her tongue.

Yaz couldn’t tell what has been more entertaining: the Doctor’s head at the mercy of a mango ice pop or the orgasm denial that was quelled with a breaking point activated by an ice cream cone.

She pulls the entire length of it off once she’s satisfied with the blonde’s exceptional skill.

“Turn around, but keep your current position,” she orders.

Obediently, the Doctor crawls around, and the sight of her ass is up at Yaz’s sight. The brunette unclips the yellow braces with one hand as the other held the ice pop tightly. She hears a gasp when she rips the petrol trousers down.

The Doctor didn’t wear any panties this time around.

Yaz hums in amusement. Her eyes lay upon the throbbing centre and drinks in the delicious view. She brushes a finger along the folds, delighting herself in the prolonged moan the Doctor releases.

“Yaz,” the alien stutters. She could see the lust clouding in those hazel irises.

While she’s known to relish in the teasing sessions she has with the blonde, she’s running on a time limit. The ice pop in her hand is already dripping in a mixture of juice and saliva.

Plus, the Doctor’s wet enough to earn this already.

So with no forewarning, Yaz _drills_ the slender frozen delight in the alien’s soaked cunt.

Lewd shrieks of her name spill from the Doctor’s tongue. Yaz’s ego is practically being spoon-fed. She feels the entrance clench while she’s keeping a steady rhythm with her icy toy.

The Doctor’s breath is laboured and desperate. Her hands tear at the candy floss of the alien ground. Her neck is tugged at when Yaz clasps the leash again. She couldn’t suppress the groans coming out of her mouth, not as if she didn’t want the brunette to know how much she enjoys this.

She’s always at her best whenever she’s under Yaz’s touch. Yaz’s own predicaments are helped as well.

When Yaz gets rougher, the Doctor can’t think but screaming out her name.

The thrusts of the ice pop hastens. A hand grasps on her ass, nails digging in the pale flesh.

But all that comes out of her mouth is a wordless moan. Language fails her.

The Doctor dips her head, amass of blonde hair showering like a waterfall in her sight. It’s then she realises how _hot_ she actually is. Her flushed cheeks, widened pupils, sweat beading her forehead, the _breaths._

Not to mention, she could feel sensations that Yaz wouldn’t be able to. Time Lords aren’t only just sensitive to time itself. Biology lesson aside, it’s clear that her own senses are reaching an overload, _so close_ , but by the judge of Yaz’s cruel intentions, she isn’t going to last much longer.

“Birds, birds!” she yelps desperately.

The ice pop’s torture halts, and Yaz slides it out of the Doctor’s entrance. She releases her hold on the leash.

“Are you okay?” Yaz asks, genuinely concerned.

The alien sighs. “I didn’t say you should stop.”

“I know that.”

Something else is pushed into the Doctor’s centre. It’s small, snuggly fit inside. Comfortable enough to walk around with.

“Waitasecond—OH!” the Doctor groans, feeling a new sense of vibrations rumbling inside her.

Yaz snickers, narrowing her eyes. The bloody telepathic vibrator, of course.

She tugs the mass of the blonde bob. “You should at least come, Doctor. It’s only fair.”

Yes, yes that’s so fair.

The Doctor’s thighs clench around the toy, so close to hitting her melting point. Her naked ass brushes against Yaz’s jeans, and she moans at the pale flesh hitting the damp spot where she climaxed earlier.

She slides two fingers on the nub of the Doctor’s clit, teasing and circling in a feather’s touch.

The Doctor’s hips raise, her back bows, and she throws her head back. The moment swallows her like a tsunami making landfall.

It’s only fair. She comes with grace, and all the coherent thoughts she could conjure are just of Yaz.

When she calms, her head falls on Yaz’s lap as she thinks of something to get back at her girlfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was at a mcdonald's and sipping on an iced mocha latte when this cursed idea popped in my head
> 
> can't say i hate myself for writing it tho


End file.
